


All That Has Become of Me

by DasWarSchonKaputt



Series: Head Over Feet 'Verse [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Age Difference, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 15:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1433662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DasWarSchonKaputt/pseuds/DasWarSchonKaputt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People at McKinley talk. They talk about Sam Evans, the bisexual slut who’s slowly screwing his way through both the male and female members of McKinley’s cheerleading squad. They talk about Santana Lopez, the Latina girl who’s easier than playing tennis with the net down. They talk about Noah Puckerman, and how he’s gone <i>soft</i> since he knocked up Quinn Fabray and became a teenage dad cliché.</p><p>But most of all, they talk about Kurt Hummel, the resident gay kid, and how he’s fucking a creep ten years his senior.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That Has Become of Me

**Author's Note:**

> It’s been a while. Here, have some age-difference!klaine.

“I love you,” Blaine says.

And somehow, it manages to be everything, nothing, and enough.

* * *

 

People at McKinley talk. They talk about Sam Evans, the bisexual slut who’s slowly screwing his way through both the male and female members of McKinley’s cheerleading squad. They talk about Santana Lopez, the Latina girl who’s easier than playing tennis with the net down. They talk about Noah Puckerman, and how he’s gone _soft_ since he knocked up Quinn Fabray and became a teenage dad cliché.

But most of all, they talk about Kurt Hummel, the resident gay kid, and how he’s fucking a creep ten years his senior.

* * *

It may be wrong and it may be a sin, but Kurt kind of loves how his and Blaine’s bodies slot together. He loves how Blaine can wrap his small frame around Kurt, and Kurt can feel like he’s drowning, but he doesn’t want it to stop.

And when Blaine whispers into his ear, “I’m never letting you go,” all Kurt can think is, _I don’t think I’d know what to do if you did._

But he doesn’t say that aloud. He says, “I won’t make you.”

And it’s enough.

* * *

Mercedes is the first to know and thus, the first to act.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Kurt?” she asks as she stretches out languidly over his bed. Her tone is light and casual, but Kurt can feel her gaze digging into his back and he knows that Mercedes has been holding onto that question for a while now.

Kurt doesn’t turn away from the inside of his closet. “Of course I know what I’m doing,” he says. “I do this twice a year.” As if to illustrate his point, Kurt gestures at the neat piles of clothes sitting on his bedroom floor.

Mercedes frowns at him. “That’s not what I—”

“I know what you meant, Mercedes,” Kurt cuts in distractedly, inspecting a jacket that he can’t actually remember wearing.

“Well, do you?” Mercedes presses. “He’s older, Kurt. Much older.”

Kurt closes his eyes, hands gripping tighter around the fabric of the jacket, and forces his heartbeat to level. “I know what I’m doing,” he says, opening his eyes. It’s clear that as soon as the words have left Kurt’s mouth that Mercedes doesn’t believe him. Kurt’s not surprised; he doesn’t really either. Not yet.

“If he ever does something,” Mercedes starts, but Kurt doesn’t let her finish.

“He won’t.”

“ _If_ he _ever_ does _anything_ ,” Mercedes repeats. “Text me. Don’t worry about the time or the place, just text me, and I will drop _everything_ to come and get you.”

Kurt wants to push it further – to make some quip about how likely that is to happen – but he can’t see the point in fighting this battle.

So he nods. “Okay,” he says.

Mercedes breathes a sigh of relief. To her, it’s enough.

* * *

“I’m yours,” Blaine whispers to Kurt. They’re curled up on Blaine’s sofa, watching _Tangled_ for what must be the fifth time together and singing duets on all the songs.

Kurt traces out a circle on Blaine’s knee. “No you’re not,” he says. “You don’t belong to anyone.”

Blaine smiles into Kurt’s hair. “Joint ownership,” he murmurs.

Kurt feels his fingers freeze mid-circle. There’s something building in his chest, slow and steady like a panic attack—

“Kurt?”

Kurt turns his head to face Blaine. “It goes both ways,” he says finally.

Blaine smiles and looks at Kurt like he makes the world turn.

And that’s enough.

* * *

“Heard you got yourself a man-cougar, Hummel.”

Kurt turns around to come face-to-face with Noah Puckerman. Puck’s leaning against the wall of lockers next to Kurt, looking like a criminal record waiting to happen.

“What do you want, Puck?” Kurt asks tiredly, pushing his locker door shut and resting his pile of books on his hip.

“I’m just sayin’,” Puck says. “I saw you and your sugar-daddy out in Columbus, Hummel. You got game.”

Kurt wants to tell Puck that it’s not a game, that it’s not _like that,_ but that’s the thing, he realises. Puck won’t ever get it, just like Mercedes doesn’t get it – none of them will ever really understand. Kurt barely gets it himself, obsesses over the how, the what and the _why._

But he never questions the _who._ Blaine could have anyone, but Kurt thinks he gets it – why Blaine needs Kurt. It’s the same reason Kurt needs Blaine.

He doesn’t know much about relationships, but Kurt knows that it doesn’t – it shouldn’t – feel like this every time. He’s seventeen; he’s not supposed to be falling hard and fast. He’s not supposed to be waking up each morning, heavy with the knowledge that Blaine is all he’s ever going to want, because as much as he’s just a teenager, as much as he knows nothing about relationships, he knows himself.

And he knows this isn’t a fling.

And to anyone looking in, all they will ever notice is the age gap, or the money, or the sex, and all they can see is _wrong, wrong, wrong, sin, sin, sin._

And maybe those outsiders are right. Maybe they’re both going straight to hell, but Kurt has never been religious, and he could care less.

So Kurt plasters a smug grin on his face and lets Puck draw his own conclusions.

“See you in Glee,” he says.

* * *

At the beginning with Blaine, every touch was electricity, ever kiss like fire. Kurt felt like every synapse in his nervous system was firing at once and he wondered if it would ever stop.

It stopped.

Kissing Blaine doesn’t burn anymore; it feels warm and familiar. And Blaine can wrap his arms around Kurt’s stomach, or press him into a mattress, and Kurt doesn’t feel trapped, and he doesn’t feel like he’s having a heart attack. He just feels safe, and the weight on top of him feels like a barrier.

And when he’s certain Blaine’s asleep, their bodies intertwined and their breaths synchronised, Kurt presses a kiss to Blaine’s forehead and whispers, “I love you.”

If it feels like a dirty secret, Kurt doesn’t let it get to him.

This is enough, he tells himself, and pushes away from Blaine to get dressed.

His curfew is in half an hour.

* * *

“Kurt, thanks for stopping by,” Miss Pillsbury says as she shuts the door to her office.

Kurt takes a seat in front of her desk and raises his eyebrows. “Is there a problem?” he asks.

Miss Pillsbury smiles condescendingly at him. “I’m worried about you, Kurt.”

Something clenches in Kurt’s stomach. Teeth gritted together, he asks, “Are my grades in trouble?”

“Well, no—”

“My attendance?”

“No—”

“My _attitude_?”

“No—”

Kurt narrows his eyes. “Then what is this about?”

Miss Pillsbury shifts primly in her seat, her fingers dancing around the edge of a stack of pamphlets that are sitting on her desk. “There have been rumours, Kurt,” she starts, “about a relationship—”

Kurt stands. He starts gathering up his books and bag from the floor.

“Where are you going?” Miss Pillsbury asks. “We’re not done.”

Kurt doesn’t stop. “On the contrary, Miss Pillsbury,” he tells her. “If you’re not here to talk to me about my grades, my attendance or my attitude to teachers, then _this,_ ” he gestures at the space between them, “is completely optional.” He shoulders his satchel. “I’m late for algebra.”

Miss Pillsbury blinks in surprise, but Kurt doesn’t stick around to see her reaction.

Enough is enough.

* * *

Kurt meets Blaine at a Warbler fundraiser. After his failed attempt at spying landed Kurt with the most eccentric support network he could have ever imagined, the Warblers had taken to treating Kurt like an honorary member.

He still hasn’t figured out why.

“Who’s that?” Kurt asks Jeff as he twitches in his self-sewn tailored suit.

Jeff glances up from his glass of champagne – Kurt really doesn’t want to know how he managed to persuade the barman that he was twenty-one – and casts his eyes over at the dark-haired man Kurt is indicating.

“Oh him,” Jeff says with a nod. “That’s Blaine Anderson. He used to be a Warbler, but he graduated some nine years ago after leading the Warblers to their first ever national victory his senior year.”

Kurt gives Jeff a quizzical look. “Did you swallow his biography, or something?”

“Nah,” Jeff says waving the suggestion off. “He’s kind of Wes’s hero. He keeps going on about the Blaine Anderson ‘glory days’, or some such crap. You know Wes.”

Kurt nods because, unfortunately, he does know Wes and that sounds _exactly_ like something the older Warbler would say.

“He’s some bigshot businessman now,” Jeff goes on. “Owns a record label or something.”

It’s at that moment that Nick makes an appearance, raising his eyebrows at Jeff’s glass of champagne. “Who’re we talking about?”

Jeff grins. “Blaine Anderson.”

A look of comprehension dawns on Nick’s face. “You know, Kurt,” he says, nodding at the dark-haired man currently engaged in conversation with Dalton’s dean. “He’s gay and – I have it on good authority – single.”

Kurt chokes on his mouthful of orange juice. “That’s not what I—” he sputters. “He’s _ten years_ older than me! I’m not—I’m not interested in _that._ ”

“That’s a shame,” Nick says with a long, put-upon sigh. “Because I’m pretty sure he’s interested in _you._ ”

Jeff nods sagaciously. “He’s looked over here nearly six different times through the duration of this conversation.”

“What?” Kurt chokes out, throwing his head around to look at Blaine again.

“ _Subtle,_ ” comments Jeff teasingly. “Oh, look at that. He’s coming over here.”

“Remember Kurt,” Nick tells him, grinning. “Safe, sane, consensual.”

“You’re both _sick,_ ” Kurt whispers harshly. “He’s _ten years_ older than me.”

“Blaine’s a pretty good guy,” Jeff says with a shrug. “He won’t do anything you’re not ready for.”

“You are _terrible_ friends,” Kurt says seriously.

Nick claps him on the shoulder. “Or amazing ones.”

“ _Terrible_ friends,” Kurt repeats.

But Nick and Jeff just smile, before Jeff nods at someone behind Kurt. “Hey Blaine,” he says. “Have you met our friend Kurt?”

“No, I don’t think I have.”

Kurt flat out glares at the duo before plastering on a charming smile and turning to meet Blaine.

“Hi,” Blaine says, holding out his hand. Kurt feels his heart stop.

“Hi,” he says back.

And in that moment, it’s enough.

* * *

Rachel places a printout on the desk in front of Kurt. He gets as far into it as the words _Abuser Checklist_ before he lifts his eyes to Rachel and glares. “Blaine isn’t abusing me,” he states bluntly, pushing the paper away.

Rachel pushes the piece of paper back towards Kurt. “Please,” she says. “Just do the checklist.”

Kurt eyes her balefully, but pulls a pen out of his pencil case and starts to go down through the list. “Why are you so set on this, Rachel?” he asks as he puts a cross next to the twentieth bullet point in a row.

Rachel sighs. “Look,” she says. “I know we’re not always the best of friends, but I do care about you, Kurt.”

“Good to know,” Kurt mutters. Another cross.

“And I’m worried,” she goes on.

Kurt shoots her a look from above the checklist. “ _Please_ tell me someone who isn’t.”

Rachel returns the look with a disapproving one of her own. “I’m _worried,_ Kurt, because the type of guy who goes after a high-schooler is likely to be the type of guy who wants to dominate your life _completely_.” She sighs. “I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into.”

Kurt skips the section on the checklist about children. “I didn’t just wake up one morning with a thing for older guys,” he says. “And if you think for even one second that I haven’t thought my entire relationship with Blaine over again and again and _again,_ you’re wrong.” He puts one final cross next to the last bullet point. “There,” he says. “Enough?”

Rachel takes her checklist back. She scans down it and nods. “For now.”

* * *

It takes Blaine three non-dates at a coffee shop, fifty text messages and a five minute conversation filled with blistering honesty to get Kurt to agree to go on a proper date with him. Or rather, it takes _Kurt_ three non-dates at a coffee shop, fifty text messages and a five minute conversation filled with blistering honesty to get _Blaine_ to agree to go on a proper date with him.

They still haven’t agreed who needed more persuading.

 _A better man would have walked away,_ Blaine murmurs into Kurt’s collarbone one evening.

 _So would a smarter one,_ Kurt says back, and then kisses Blaine with all the force of one that doesn’t care.

This is what this is, they both know. It’s stupid and it’s bad, but it’s what they have. It’s the hand that life has dealt them, and Kurt is smart, and Blaine is good, and they’re just going to have to play it.

“You’re the one perfectly imperfect thing I have,” Blaine presses into Kurt’s skin.

“Joint ownership,” Kurt says with a half-laugh.

Blaine hums in agreement. “Joint ownership,” he affirms.

And it’s enough.

* * *

Glee club each day feels like going to war. Mr Schue keeps shooting Kurt these _looks_ like he wants to say something, but is (thankfully) biting his tongue. And Santana keeps making quips about Kurt’s sexual preferences. And Brittany just asks her contrary questions, which somehow manage to cut deeper than any of the other sneers and comments. And Tina tells Kurt to get out while he can.

And all Kurt can think is, _None of you really have any idea._

Because the time for getting _out_ has long since passed. Maybe there wasn’t ever a time. Kurt falls too hard and too fast, and he can’t remember a time with Blaine when he hasn’t been in over his head.

Kurt catches Finn staring at him.

 _They aren’t just rumours,_ his brother’s face seems to say.

Kurt feels something break. _No, they aren’t._

And Kurt starts to count down to the end of Glee club, when he will have to face Finn.

“Does he make you happy?” Finn asks as soon as they’re clear of the choir room. “You seem happier. Is that—because of him?”

The question throws Kurt.

Is he happy? He _loves_ Blaine, he knows this. And the only time he ever feels at ease anymore – ever feels like he’s himself – is when Blaine’s clasping their fingers together, or laughing at something he’s said, or pressing their bodies together, and kissing him like he’s everything—

“I am,” Kurt says. “He makes me happy.”

Finn nods. It’s enough. “I’m going to have to tell Burt, you know.”

Kurt has always know that his father was going to find out, and he’s always known that it’s going to be _awful_ when it happens.

Kurt nods. “I know.”

* * *

The first time they have sex, it’s slow and sweet and deliberate. Blaine peels each of Kurt’s clothes off carefully, and Kurt can feel him unwrapping each of his layers, each of his defences, and catches his eyes and nods.

They come undone in each-other’s arms and afterwards, in a mess of sheets and limbs, Blaine whispers, “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you,” into Kurt’s ear, and Kurt can swear that he feels teardrops on his naked shoulder.

“Love doesn’t hurt this much,” Kurt says.

“Loving you is the only thing that doesn’t hurt,” is the reply.

And it makes sense and it’s enough, so Kurt closes his eyes and falls deeper into the abyss that is Blaine. “I love you too,” he says.

* * *

Kurt will never forget the look on his dad’s face when he tells him. Part of him is worried that his father’s going to have another heart attack, but Burt’s face just goes dangerously blank and he tells Kurt to sit down.

“I don’t approve of this,” Burt says.

Kurt bites his lip. “Okay.”

“He’s ten years older than you,” Burt says.

“I know,” Kurt says.

“I _really_ don’t approve of this,” Burt repeats.

Kurt takes a deep breath. “I’m in love with him,” he says. “He’s in love with me.”

Burt presses his lips into a thin line. “I want to meet him.”

* * *

“You don’t have to do this,” Kurt says for the fourth time.

“It’s fine,” Blaine says, un-buckling his seat-belt. “It’s just dinner.”

“He’s been pre-emptively cleaning his shotgun ever since he sent out the invitation,” Kurt warns as they get out of the car.

“It’s fine,” Blaine says.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Kurt slams the car door shut and starts walking up the path to his front door.

“Kurt?”

Kurt turns.

“I love you,” Blaine says.

And somehow, it manages to be everything, nothing, and enough.

**Author's Note:**

> The abuser checklist Rachel gives Kurt is a real thing. You can find it [here](http://www.cdh.org/medical-services/services-a-z/emergency/domestic-abuse/abusive-behavior-checklist.aspx). One of the things my mother did with me and my sister was to sit down and run through the checklist with relationships we saw in popular culture (so, TV shows and books and stuff -- cough _Twilight_ cough), so that we knew what was and wasn’t acceptable despite the glorification of stuff on TV. Have I mentioned that my mother is awesome?


End file.
